Bambi rules

So, even in 21st Century London - deer take priority.  Hundreds of the things -- including swarms of tiny young ones -- decided to stage a mass migration in Richmond Park this afternoon, leaving motorists and cyclists no choice but to sit and relax for a bit.

All except for one nutcase driver.  Less than a minute after this photo was taken, he came up the outside of the line of cars you can see stretching off into the distance -- going at least twice the park's 20mph speed limit.  Narrowly avoiding a couple of deer, and deaf to the waving and shouting of other drivers - he swerved back on to the right side of the road and disappeared.

What possesses people to act like that?

Quotes of the week

Two that stood out this week.

The first, in a deadpan, resigned voice - came from the last rider in a group of eight or so roadies in Richmond Park midweek.

"Ok, lads.  If you haven't noticed, that is actually us being passed by a full-suspension mountain bike."

Second, from my clever and sensible 17-year-old daughter.

"Dad, when will you accept you are NOT French.  Even though you shave your legs and ride a bike, it does not make you French...."

All in the legs

To FA Headquarters last week, for the second time -- and the last, given that they're moving to new premises before next season.

The launch of the Geoff Thomas Foundation team for London to Paris, including a couple of sporting celebrities, some policemen inspired to ride by sick colleagues and, lurking somewhere at the back, me.

A great night, which I spent looking at people in a slightly bemused way, sure I recognised them but unfamiliar with seeing them without cycling kit, helmets or a distinctive bike.  The L2P "ride captains" include a number of strikingly attractive women, completely unrecognisable on the night in dresses and make-up rather than the familiar kit and wraparound shades.  But then, I completely failed to recognise the large, bald man who stood next to me for much of the evening as Magnus Backstedt, until I saw captioned pictures of him the next day.

Good conversation with an older gent whose name I don't remember. In his seventies, but still a keen rider who accompanied Geoff on a couple of stages at the end of his 2007 Tour de France attempt.  He was short and wiry and evidently extremely fit.

He reckoned he was doing about 100 miles a week in training at the moment -- but all on hills.  I said I wasn't "built" for hills, which drew a quizzical look.  Six feet tall, more than thirteen stone, I explained.

He looked at me scornfully for a few seconds before  slapping his thighs and saying "Well, it's all about the legs, really, isn't it?"

He's right of course, and on this morning's shortish training ride I determined to pass as many people as possible on the hills.  Didn't do too badly, either -- although my heart felt as though it was going to come out through my ears at one point.

White Assos shorts, incidentally, are worth at least 5 extra kph on your average speed.  The cruel insults of other riders are just jealousy.

Assos - an apology

It has been brought to my attention that some of the posts on this blog in the past two years may have been interpreted as critical of white Assos shorts and their wearers.  

The impression may have been unintentionally given that white Assos shorts were a ghastly fashion mistake comparable with comb-overs and leopardskin thong swimming costumes (on men); that white Assos shorts were worn in the main by overpaid, Johnny-come-lately city boys who'd taken up cycling as just the latest fad and had no understanding of the long, intricate and subtle history and culture of this wonderful sport.  Regrettably, on occasion, it may have been suggested that white Assos shorts were a sign of more money than sense, and less taste than either.

Year in Hell Blogging PLC would like to take this opportunity to apologise unreservedly for any such unintended implications.   It is happy to make clear that white Assos shorts are fine, stylish and comfortable garments made to the highest standards, and chosen by passionate and dedicated cyclists as an expression of their commitment to the sport and its traditions.

Since you ask, yes I have bought a pair.  They were cheap (relatively) on eBay and the box says they put 23 percent less pressure on genital areas and 18 percent more compression on the muscle zone.   I wasn't aware that I had a muscle zone, but what's not to like?

Put out more flags

I've always struggled with the idea of sporting patriotism.  I was eight years old when England last won the Football World Cup and, even though I was excited, I still didn't get why I should feel proud or inspired by the success of the eleven men on the pitch.  After all, I wasn't playing or contributing in any way, and it's an accident of birth that I happen to be English - not something that I can take any credit for.  

I still get annoyed when, as this week,  TV commentators assume that in a match between Chelsea and Barcelona, British fans will be rooting for the London team.   Thousands of "neutrals", like me, prefer a club with a long history of forward-looking, stylish play and deep roots in their community to the over-financed, arrogant plaything of a billionaire gangster.  And in a Barca/Man Utd final?  I won't be in a minority in cheering on the Catalans.

I've found it refreshing that, as a British cycling fan, the nationality of riders or teams has never been a big issue.

I loved Robert Millar's steely, obsessiveness and his superb style as a climber, but the fact that he was Scottish was largely irrelevant.   He was, anyway, more continental than most other members of the peloton and his rejection of so much that was parochial and small about British cycling was a key part of his personality. 

My other favourite riders and teams -- Bernard Hinault, Mario Cipollini,  Jens Voigt, Carlos Sastre -- have rarely been British.  You only have to read Tim Moore's brilliant comparison of photographs of Hinault and Boardman to understand why the Englishman is admired but never attracted a passionate following.

I enjoyed the success of the British track team but mainly because I admired them as athletes, their dedication and attitude, and the way that the team management brought focus and professionalism where none had existed before.

But now we have something different -- world class British road riders (Cavendish) and soon teams (Sky) -- that leave little excuse for not being patriotic in your support.

I'm going to enjoy this Giro, as one of the last where I can, conscience-free, support teams and riders of any nationality.